So Much for Democracy (12 page)

How come no one's thinking about what I need?

I get up to go outside, but Dad says, “I'm counting on you to be good about this, Astrid. Mom needs our support right now. You can do your bit by taking care of Piper.” He picks Piper up from his lap and hands her to me.

I can never be mad at Piper, but I cross my arms, which leaves Dad holding her up to me.

“Astrid,” he says. His voice is tired—but then, so am I.

“'Strid,” says Piper, and my arms instinctively reach out and take her. She throws her arms around me, and I hug her close. What kind of a creep would I be to use Piper as a way to get back at Dad?

Dad stands up and pulls his car keys out of his pocket.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

Dad takes a deep breath. “There's some extra Chloroquine at the office,” he says. “I won't be long.”

“Can I come with you? We can bring Piper, so Mom can rest for a bit.”

“No.” His voice has that final tone, but I still say, “How come? How come I can't?”

“Astrid…” He stops and I think he's going to walk out the door without saying anything else, but then he turns to me and says, “Honey, yesterday people were celebrating, and yesterday we had to get Gordo to the clinic, but today there are more soldiers on the streets. And today you don't have to go out. Some of the soldiers have been breaking into houses and taking things, sometimes alcohol, so now there are drunken boys with guns on the street, and I don't want you out there.”

“Breaking into houses?”

“Don't worry about that. It's not going to happen to us. We're fine here in this neighborhood.” Dad smiles at me, but I'm not smiling back. Drunken soldiers on the street, and Dad's going into town? All the anger I was feeling toward him a minute ago evaporates like it never existed. The room feels small all of a sudden.

“Don't go, Dad,” I say, but he shrugs and says, “I have to. Your mother will never forgive me if something happens to Gordo.”

It's hot as anything outside. I push Piper in her hammock and stare at the clouds. Thomas's radio is locked in the shed, and I don't have a key. It's hot, hot, hot and I'm bored, bored, bored, but I don't want to go inside in case I run into Mom. In the end, I gather Piper onto my lap and squish into the hammock with her.

When Dad's car turns into the driveway, Piper and I leave the hammock and run toward him. He pulls up to the house but stays in the car, his head slumped over the steering wheel, and he only raises his head when Piper calls out, “Daddy.” His face is white, and he looks way worse than he did when he left this morning.

“Dad, what happened?” I ask.

“How's Gordo?” he says.

“Not great. Mom's been with him all morning.”

Dad shakes his head. He rubs his hand along his neck and over his face.

“What happened?” I ask.

“I'll go check on Gordo,” he says, opening the door and getting out.

“Dad!” I say.

He looks at me properly for the first time. “I'm sorry, Astrid. I've got a lot on my mind.”

“Dad. I'm not a little kid.”

“I sometimes forget that, Astrid.”

“Mom's worried sick about Gordo. She's losing her mind. She doesn't have any time for me at all, and now you won't even talk to me.” I don't plan to say all those things. They just come out.

Dad puts his car keys in his pocket and reaches for me and Piper. “It's been hard for you, hasn't it, Astrid?”

“Yes,” I say.

Our hug is the longest, strongest one we've had for a long time. We say all kinds of things to each other through that hug, like how sorry we are and how we each need the other to be strong. At last Dad lets me go and says, “You're the best, Astrid. Truly.”

Those words wipe away days and days of frustration, and I smile at him.

“But Mom…” I say.

Dad takes my head in his hands and bends down so we're eye to eye. “She'll be fine, Astrid. Once Gordo is better and she gets some rest, she'll be fine. We all react to stress differently, and she's taken all of this very hard. She feels responsible for both of you, and she's angry at herself for bringing you here. This coup and Gordo getting sick have made a bad situation for her even worse.”

I nod. I wish he'd told me that before. It helps me understand some of the things she's flipped out about over the past couple of months.

“She's acting kind of crazy,” I say, but I laugh a little when I say it.

“I'll go and check on her,” Dad says.

“But Dad, what happened?”

I don't think he knows his hands are shaking.

“I was stopped at a roadblock. A soldier…” He pauses and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he says, “I'm fine, Astrid. I'm shaken, that's all. He didn't hurt me. I shouldn't have told you.”

“Dad, I'm glad you're okay,” I say.

“It'll be over soon. Rawlings and his men will settle into being the new government. They'll sort things out,” says Dad. “Until then, we'll be fine.” He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. “I'll go see your mom and Gordo. And Astrid—thank you.”

SEVENTEEN

A few days later, Dad drives me and Piper over to Thema's house.

“Are you sure we should?” I ask.

“If we stick to the backroads, we'll be okay.”

Life seems to be getting back to normal. Thomas and Abena are back at work. The egg lady came by yesterday. Two of Gordo's street friends poked their heads around the gate, looking for him.

Gordo's much better. He sits up in bed and eats a bit of food when Abena makes his favorite things, like grilled cheese sandwiches. Mom still spends all her time with him, and I'm not sure if Dad arranged for me and Piper to go to Thema's house for Mom's sake or for mine, but either way, I'm happy to be away from Mom's dreary face and the stale air in Gordo's room.

Thema and I swim in the pool until we're waterlogged, then we have a snack, and then Thema's mom tells her she has to finish folding the laundry, so Piper and I head out back to where Piper's hammock is still slung between two trees. When we get there, Ebo's already lying in it.

“You're still here, I see,” he says.

“We're staying until lunchtime,” I say.

“I mean, you're still in Ghana. You didn't leave.”

I'm confused, but then I remember the conversation we had after Rawlings first attempted a coup, and how I said that if it got dangerous we could all leave.

“No…” Once again, I don't know what to say. I'd like to say something, but before I can figure out what, Ebo says, “Piper, come sit with me,” and he pulls her up onto the hammock with him.

I push the hammock so they swing gently back and forth.

“Did you want to leave?” Ebo asks.

“No,” I say before I can think about it, but it's true. I haven't wanted to leave, not even once. “I'd like to go back to school, though,” I add.

Ebo laughs. “Back to Sister Mary?”

“Was she your teacher too?”

“Two years ago. She had tarantulas that year.”

I shudder. Snakes I can handle, but tarantulas would be a different thing.

“Does she still make you memorize poems?”

“Yes.”

“And dissect rats?”

“Yeah.”

“She's cool,” says Ebo, and I have to admit, she is.

Thema comes out and we spend the rest of the morning playing badminton and lying in the hammock.

At home, I go upstairs to say hi to Gordo while Mom puts Piper down for her nap, but he's asleep, so I tiptoe out of his room.

“It's going to take him a long time to recover completely,” says Mom when we meet in the hallway.

I think it's going to take her a long time too. Her eyes still have dark shadows under them, but there's a bit of a smile in them, which I haven't seen for a while.

When lunch is ready, Mom and I sit at the table together. We don't say much, and it seems strange it being just the two of us. To fill the silence, I tell her about swimming at Thema's house and about a new song Thema's learning. She listens with a smile, so I keep talking.

When the banging on the door starts, I drop my sandwich in my lap.

“Don't answer it,” Mom says.

The banging comes again.

“Shhh,” whispers Mom. Neither of us moves, and I can tell from the wideness of Mom's eyes that she's thinking the same thing I am.

What if it's a soldier at the door?

I clench my jaw so hard it hurts. Neither of us speaks or even breathes. Then there's a noise at the back of the house.

Through the window, I see a soldier pointing a gun at Thomas, who has frozen, bent over with his shovel in his hand.

Mom rises out of her chair. “Oh…” she says.

Thomas and the soldier turn. When the soldier sees us, he shouts something I don't understand. Thomas drops his shovel and shakes his head. The soldier shouts again, and Mom goes to the window.

The soldier jabs his gun at Thomas.

No one breathes.

Then Mom raises her hand. “I'll open the door,” she shouts. The soldier marches Thomas around the house.

Mom and I rush to the front door.

“Go into the kitchen and lock the door,” she says to me, but I don't move. “Go,” she says.

I can't.

I can't leave her here with the soldier on the other side of the door.

I take her hand. “Ready,” I say.

Mom opens her mouth to say something, but I hold her hand tighter.

She draws in a deep breath and opens the door.

The soldier stares at us. He lets his eyes wander from our feet to our faces. He says something we don't understand.

Mom starts shaking. A tingling sensation runs up my fingers, into my arms and through my whole body, but the two of us stand together. Neither of us moves. The soldier speaks again, and this time Thomas says, “He asks where you are from.”

“Canada,” says Mom.

The soldier speaks again, and Thomas says, “He wants to know how long you've been living here.”

“Five months,” says Mom.

The soldier gestures to Mom's purse, hanging near the door. He uses his gun, so it swings toward our faces, and both of us gasp. The solider laughs and points at the purse again. Mom takes it off the hook and gives it to him. He slings it on his shoulder and then, without saying anything, he turns and walks away. We watch until he leaves the driveway and turns down the road.

Mom sags against the door. I let go of her hand and lean on the other side. Thomas sinks to the floor at our feet. None of us moves or says anything. My heart is beating so fast I feel my blood rushing past my ears. The three of us stay there, silent. When I go to bed, Dad comes into my room. He sits on the edge of my bed and says, “You were brave today.”

“I wish you'd been here,” I say.

“So do I.” His voice sounds tired, worn out.

“Why do you think he left?” I ask. I've been thinking about it all day. He could easily have barged into the house and taken anything he wanted. Mom and Thomas and I wouldn't have stopped him. Not with that gun.

“Was it because we're foreigners?” I ask.

Dad shakes his head. “I don't know, but I'd say yes, probably,” he says.

There's nothing more to say after that, so he leaves and I lie in bed thinking about how Ebo said his dad would never leave Ghana and about how easily we could.

EIGHTEEN

“Joanne, go to bed,” says Dad a couple of mornings later.

“I think I'll sit with Gordo a bit,” Mom says, but Dad says, “Joanne. Please. Look at yourself.”

She doesn't move, but when Gordo says, “Astrid's going to read to me,” she lets Dad lead her out of the room.

“Read to you?” I ask. Gordo's a lot better, but he's still weak and not allowed to leave his bedroom.

Gordo frowns. “I had to say something. She doesn't want me to be left alone. She's afraid I'll get sick again. She's afraid I'm going to die.”

I sit on the edge of the bed. For a little kid, Gordo can be really perceptive sometimes.

“Plus, she smells,” he adds.

That sounds funny, but neither of us laughs, because it's true. She hasn't had a bath or changed her clothes since Gordo got sick. We're both silent for a minute.

Dad comes back in and says, “Mom's taking a nap. Abena's agreed to keep an eye on Piper, and I'm going to work. I won't be long, but I want you to let Mom sleep. If Abena needs anything—help with Piper or anything else—I'm counting on you to help her out. Gordo, that means you too.”

“You're going to work?” I say.

“I'll be fine.”

It's not him I'm worried about. This will be the first time he's left the house since the soldier came. I must look anxious, because he says, “Thomas says the soldiers are under control now, so we don't have to worry.”

“Soldiers?” says Gordo.

Dad sighs, but he sits on the end of Gordo's bed and tells him what's happened. I expect Gordo to be all mad about missing the soldiers, but instead his face turns pale, and his mouth sets in a grimace.

Dad kisses his forehead and says, “It's over now, Gordo. Don't worry.” To me he says, “I won't be long,” and he leaves the room.

Gordo throws back the sheet and swings his legs to the side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Going to see Kwame and Yafeo,” he says.

“You're not allowed,” I say. Like not being allowed to do something has ever stopped him before. “Gordo, I'm serious.”

“So am I.” He pulls on shorts and a T-shirt and shoves his feet into his sandals.

“You're still sick, Gordo.”

He turns his face to me. “I want to see them,” he says.

“The soldiers?”

“No. Kwame and Yafeo.”